Oh, there’d been a few fleeting glances, some passing consideration of men to appease her father, mostly gentlemen who frequented their business and church. Even the gallant Captain Rycroft, who came in and out of port. But nothing lasting. Nothing that stayed with her, made her want to don a coif like the married women of James Towne.
Candace eyed her sympathetically. “Our prayers for the right man shall be answered in time, perhaps. For now, let us celebrate Cecily’s new beginning, shall we?”
7
Market day always resembled a fair. Nearly everyone in the colony seemed to turn out to either parade their wares or purchase them. Booths and tents arrayed James Towne’s streets made muddy by a night’s rain. On her feet at first light, Selah listened to the din of people coming and going past their house on the main thoroughfare into town.
Yawning, she tied her braids beneath her cap and put on a new apron edged with Brussels lace. Having lain awake the night before in her curtained bed, her ears tuned to any rustle in the bushes heralding another of Cecily’s love-struck suitors, Selah felt unfit for any task. Across from her the would-be bride had slept fitfully, her courting slowed by a fever. Nearly everyone new to Virginia succumbed to some malady upon arrival.
But this morning, Cecily had risen early, the fever finally broken. She sat at the kitchen table drinking the boneset tonic Candace had brewed her while Ustis muttered about Spaniards as he ate his breakfast, a recent ship’s sighting a concern. Between Indians inland and the Spanish by sea, they were constantly on alert.
“I’ve a mind to move upriver to Hopewell Hundred,” Ustis declared between bites. “James Towne is in a dismal strategic position. Not only that, there’s a growing need for supplies inland. Those prosperous planters require a cape merchant nearer them. Trade would be brisk. I’ve reason to believe we might fare better all the way around.”
“You’ve been in James Towne since its founding. You might well miss it.” Candace regarded her husband thoughtfully. “I’m partial to Middle Plantation, just seven miles distant and so well situated between the James and York Rivers.”
“We’d be better protected there with the new palisade stretching for leagues and leagues between us and the tribes,” Shay said. “And Xander says the land is better for tobacco and wheat.”
“Ah, wheat.” Ustis’s head bobbed above his plate. “Former tobacco fields make fine ground for grain. And now, with Governor Harvey crowing Virginia has at last become the granary of all His Majesty’s colonies, we might try our hand at it.”
Candace looked toward Selah as if awaiting her thoughts on the matter. But ’twas Cecily who spoke, her interest plain. “I’ve not seen Master Renick of late. Is he still away?”
“Perhaps today we shall find out, if Widow Brodie comes to market,” Candace said. “But what of Goodman Wentz?”
“’Tis no crime to have two suitors, surely.” Cecily smiled her pleasure and looked at Selah as if reminding her of her mission. “At least for now.”
Pushing his plate away, Ustis burst into verse. “‘There is a lady sweet and kind, was never a face so pleased my mind; I did but see her passing by, and yet I’ll love her till I die.’”
At their mirth, he rose and put on both jacket and hat, ready for business. Shay did the same. “We shall see you ladies later today, aye?”
“If Cecily feels well enough,” Candace returned as they went out.
“Oh, I am in need of fresh air, perhaps an afternoon jaunt.” Cecily was already on her feet and moving toward the window to judge the weather. “Another sunny day! But quite warm for June. Such a contrast from England.”
“Are you homesick, my dear?” Candace asked.
“Only when the weather makes me perspire unbecomingly. I must remember to carry a fan and stay shy of the unrelenting sun . . .”
Selah slipped out the door behind her father and Shay, a headache pulsing between her temples.
Selah moved among the many booths set up in the market, making a mental list of wares that were missing from their own store shelves. Just offshore the latest supply ship lay becalmed in deep waters, having brought a great quantity of Kill Devil, as her father called the West Indies rum. Selah suspected it would be used primarily to ply the Naturals with, to fool them into forsaking more territory.
Her thoughts swung to Xander again, unwillingly yet persistently. In moments, as if sensing her musings, Widow Brodie made straight for her and touched her sleeve.
“Good day, Mistress Hopewell.”
Selah smiled a greeting. Was Xander near? She looked past his aunt, searching for his familiar figure in the melee. How much easier it would be to simply plead Cecily’s case here beneath some shady eave. “Are you alone this market day?”
“Alexander has just returned home.” The news raised then dashed Selah’s hopes. “He is zealous to return to the fields and is likely there as we speak.”
Selah understood. “’Tis a critical time for farming, especially Orinoco.”
“Indeed.” An onerous sigh. “Topping tobacco, foremost, and combating pests, mostly those detestable worms.” Widow Brodie frowned as she examined an ell of printed cloth. “I fear this year’s crop is beginning badly with so much rain.”
Spring had been one damp blur. But better than drought, surely. Taking a breath, Selah summoned all her courage. “I should like to call at Rose-n-Vale . . . when the master has time to be interrupted.”
The widow’s white brows arched. Selah awaited chastisement, a rebuke to her boldness, thus ending her undertaking for Cecily.
“’Tis a private matter,” Selah quickly added, and a light dawned in the older woman’s faded blue eyes. Did she think . . . ? Selah didn’t mean to poke a hole in the woman’s matrimonial hopes, at least where she herself was concerned. “Shay has also caught an enormous sturgeon for your table.”
“Oh my!” The widow regained her composure. “A fresh fish cannot be kept waiting. I bid you come at your earliest convenience. This afternoon, perhaps? Alexander is oft in his study in the heat of the day.”
“Thank you,” Selah replied in confirmation, and they both moved on amid the busy marketplace.
Selah continued perusing goods, keeping close watch on her pockets. Though thievery was punished, pickpockets still plied their dubious trade. Bumped by a burly man hefting a large basket, with nary an apology, she was thrust into the path of Helion Laurent.
Removing his plumed hat, the physic gave a courtly little bow, which struck her as more ridiculous than gallant. “Mistress Hopewell, you look all business on market day.”
“I am about my father’s interests, sir.”
“Obviously. But have you no pleasurable pursuits beyond a bargain and the next stall’s enticements? Your brother is quite capable, is he not? Yet ’tis you who are most mercenary.”
She attempted to move past him, but a throng of shoppers slowed her. “Shay is not yet of age and is still being schooled. He’s only lately returned from England, besides.”
He returned his hat to his head. “I’ve always felt it unseemly that a woman of your station conducts business like a man. In Europe such is frowned upon.”